


Dog Days

by PaddyChan



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: And by inspired I mean I just took half of it and added a drunk worgen, And so does Shaw, Anduin needs a break, Fluff and Humor, How to (not) be friends 101, Inspired by Across Enemy Lines, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27948605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaddyChan/pseuds/PaddyChan
Summary: As the High King of the Alliance, Anduin Wrynn doesn't really have any kind of choice in whether his birthday gets celebrated, or not.It's just that this year, everything goes straight to hell in a hand-basket, when all he hoped for was to simply get it over with. But at least, it'll be a day to be remembered.
Relationships: Varok Saurfang/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sed/gifts).



> So... around two weeks ago, I read Sed's "Across Enemy Lines" in one sitting, forfeiting any sleep and became hooked to a pairing I didn't even know existed, before.  
> As a reasonable result, this is my own addition to the pairing, gifted to Sed, without whom I still wouldn't give a shit about Anduin, but who managed to do what Blizzard couldn't in years and finally got me to not only like but love him.

Stormwind was a strange place and its inhabitants were even stranger, he mused, as he watched the city’s young King sign yet another invitation, before he unhappily shook some tension from his wrist.

“Ask Shaw to assist you”, he suggested. “If you did, you might get done by today.”

“Master Shaw’s signature won’t help appeasing all these noble families”, Anduin answered, supressing an unhappy sigh. After the final defeat of the Burning Legion, the former crown-prince had quickly taken it upon him to strengthen the bound between the Alliance’s fractions… which included inviting them personally to special occasions such as these.

He also had strengthened some bonds elsewhere, but that wasn’t what this discussion was about.

Unseen by him, his partner in conversation lifted one of his non-existent eyebrows. “You do realise he is at least as familiar as you are, with drawing that signature?”

That, if nothing else, made the High King finally turn around and face him. “I cannot ask my Spy-Master to commit high-treason by counterfeiting my signature over _birthday-invitations_ ”, Anduin answered. 

“Fine.” 

The High King blinked. Had be just been agreed to? He had expected a far greater discussion about traditions, official procedures and the inefficient way humans tended to their matters. After all, this wasn’t the first time -and wouldn’t be the last- his duties were bound to official matters he took no joy in. “Where are you going?”, he asked, sightly suspicious (and just as disappointed), as the other man stood up from his seat. A simple wooden chair, patted with boar-furs, instead of anything comfortable and _so soft it makes my back ache_ , as he had claimed.

“I will talk to Shaw”, came the answer, making Anduin bustle about in his far more comfortable chair. “I just told you, I can’t-”

“You cannot, but I can.”

“Varok-”

“I don’t expect to take long.”

The door fell close, leaving him alone in his chambers.

_“Varok!”_

When he had first arrived in Stormwind, Varok Saurfang had already known humans were strange creatures. This far, not a single week had gone by, without proving him right.

Four weeks from now would mark the anniversary of Anduin’s birth and for whatever reason, such was cherished greatly by humans (and worgen, as far as he could tell). It made no sense to him. Anduin had achieved nothing by being born; if anything, his mother should be the one to receive honours as she had been the one to do the hard work. Victories should be celebrated, honour, even a glorious death on the battlefield worthy of a true warrior. But birth? Celebrating something Anduin at the time had both, no choice nor active role in seemed at least confusing.

But oh, Azeroth would indeed mourn the absence of Stormwind’s High King, had his mother failed to birth him, Saurfang thought.

After Varian Wrynn’s death at the hands of Gul’dan, his son had strived to unite the Alliance’s fractions further… and at the same time, to maintain the fragile peace Horde and Alliance had achieved upon the enormous task of finally ending the Burning Legion’s path of terror.

The Horde, bereft of their Warchief after Vol’jin’s passing without naming a successor, had either decided to watch and wait how things developed further, since their time to do such was, if not endless, then at least far longer than one human King would ever reign (which was one of the few positions Lor’themar and Sylvanas actually agreed on), or had decided to actively take part within the High King’s attempts for peace.

Ironically, it had been the one most famed for war, who had taken the first step.

Five months ago, Varok Saurfang had decided to make use of his tactical genius not in battle, but in peace. 

The High Overlord had appeared out of seemingly nothing but thin air within Stormwind’s throne room -until today ignoring each and every inquiry about _how_ \- and had watched a small human sitting on a throne far too large for his slender frame, all but ignoring the SI:7 closing in. “Prove it”, he had demanded, making Stormwind’s King straighten in his throne. If he died today, he would do so proudly, attempting to reach the one goal always being withheld from him and his kin: Peace.

“Prove you seek peace and I will make certain you achieve it.”

 _Prove me wrong, and I will burn this city to the grounds_ had gone unspoken, but hardly unnoticed. Saurfang had never been one for big speeches, his actions always spoke louder than even his roar on the battlefield could.

“Would you like your rooms to be sunny”, had been the High King’s answer and that was all it had taken for Anduin Wrynn to gain Saurfang’s respect.

Respect, that had soon developed into something even deeper, first admiration, and afterwards a kind of passion he had not felt since his beloved mate had died all these years ago. And even their clash in the library deep in the night, with no ears to hear the High King’s wails of pleasure, hadn’t calmed his desire… and it seemed, neither Anduin’s.

Saurfang had never asked for love, but it seemed fate was willing to repay him for his striding for peace -whether he deserved such, or not.

“You shouldn’t be within this part of the castle.”

Torn from his thoughts (when had he become comfortable enough to allow himself to let them wander?), he looked up, meeting the by now familiar face of Mathis Shaw. The spy master had been the first one to notice his presence within this part of the castle -which had been expected.

“You might consider helping your King in writing all these letters before he maims his own hands trying to do so himself”, Saurfang rumbled.

Shaw cast him a look both meaningful and unimpressed. “Which would be rather unfortunate considering your nightly activities, wouldn’t it”, he asked, making the orc chuckle deeply. “It also made you the only one able to sign his documents.” What him and Anduin did behind the chamber’s doors was both, a secret and not. None of them would attempt keeping their connection secret, yet neither would showcase it in broad daylight, either. Which inevitable lead to the High King’s confidants (and one very sorry cleaning-maid) knowing about them. Not that he had ever harboured any illusions about keeping secrets that dire from the Alliance’s spy master.

If was strange, how comfortable he had become, Saurfang mused, as he walked down the corridor and entered Anduin’s chambers -leaving the door open for Shaw, who at least had the courtesy to knock before entering and pulling the door closed behind him.

“Varok!” The King’s voice carried towards him. “I already told you, this isn’t-” The spy entered, making Anduin’s shoulders drop. “Good afternoon, Master Shaw”, he greeted, sounding rather resigned to his fate.

“Good afternoon, Majesty”, Shaw replied, making his King shake his head. “Please”, he asked. “None of that. But before we discuss anything further, I… I would like to…” He hesitated, clearing uncertain about the matter at hand, and then took a single envelope from his desk, perfectly folded and addressed. With a deep breath, he finally gained the courage to proceed, handing the envelope to Saurfang who by now stood next to him. Cautiously, the orc took it, dwarfing the paper within his large hands, obviously having been addressed by Anduin himself. 

_Varok Saurfang_  
High Overlord of the Horde  
Supreme Commander of the Might of Kalimdor 

He frowned. Neither of them was known to pride themselves with titles overly much. 

“It’s for you”, Anduin confirmed, shifting nervously in his seat. Careful as to not tear the letter inside, Saurfang opened the seal, revealing a single piece of paper. “It’s an invitation… for you”, the High King explained the obvious. “I know you… you think it’s strange and… most probably inane, but you being there would mean the world to me. I… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pressure you, it’s just-”

A warm, calloused palm cradling his cheek interrupted his nervous rambling and when he raised his gaze, he was met with Varok’s amber eyes. “I’ll be there.” Anduin could ask for the world at his feet, and he would find a way to make it happen. Being at his side for whatever ridiculousness a birthday celebration included would be a small price to pay for his lover’s happiness. “And now allow Master Shaw to help you, before any of your fingers fall off.”

xxXxx

For the third time this evening, Saurfang supressed the urge to sneeze.

Everywhere within the castle, large bouquets of flowers had been set up, making it look like as though a whole army had raided all of Elwynn Forest for plant-life. Whereas he had always deemed Stormwind to be opulent and excessive in its decorations -especially in comparison to Orgrimmar- this simply was ridiculous.

Considering today’s special occasion -and the fact most nobles would probably feel uncomfortable next to a fully armoured orc towering above them- he had cladded himself in a soft leather tunic and a pair of simple black trousers. His boots had remained, though, simply due to the fact that time had been too tight to get another pair fitted. Or that he had no intention of playing a game of pretend.

The great hall was filled with people, most of them humans -or in case of the worgen, at least in human guise- but he easily recognised other races, as well. Anduin was treading amongst them like a fish in water, smiling and laughing, striking conversations.

However; he declined each and every invitation to dance, very efficiently stirring guilt within Saurfang, who was very aware he was the reason for the High King’s refusal.

“Oh, my, what do we have here?”

Torn out of his thoughts, he returned his attention to the matter at hand. A human woman stood in front of him, seizing him up with her gaze. Her opulent dress was large enough to very nearly swallow her and probably as expensive as half a war. “I have seen a lot of orcs”, a lie, obviously, “But none of them even came close to you in hight.” That one might actually be true. “You have to be… High Overlord Saurfang, if I am not mistaken.”

“Yes”, he confirmed, letting his attention wander back to Anduin, who caught his eyes but was drawn back into another conversation not even a moment later.

“Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with me… High Overlord?” Her voice turned to something he recognised as coquette and as his attention returned to her, he frowned.

“The only steps I know are those on the battle-field”, Saurfang answered. “They have no place here.”

He had accepted Anduin’s invitation to do both; make his lover happy and show his good intentions. Partaking into whatever ridiculousness a royal court included was none of his plan. He had been at the festive for long hours already and even managed some rather pleasant conversations with Mia Greymane, Shaw and a few dwarfs.

“Do not be coy; there is no need to-” With a single movement, he had shaken off the hand she had placed on his bicep; the mountain of muscle twitching in a muscle-memory that could -would- take an opponent’s life.

“Never touch a warrior unbiddenly”, he growled. “The outcome might prove to be disastrous.”

Suddenly, the hall was too full, the people too loud, laughter fading into screams and unarmoured mothers ran for their lives only to be struck down mercilessly. The sounds of a massacre, like pigs ready for slaughter.

He turned around, swiftly heading for the exit -not the main one, as it was too frequented to offer any comfort. He needed some peace and quiet, just a few minutes to catch his breath. Then, he would re-join Anduin who hopefully wouldn’t even notice his leave.

It turned out, the exit he had taken was the servants’ route from the kitchen to the great hall and therefore had been unoccupied.

It also turned out, his luck was truly spectacularly bad, as an unfortunately familiar voice called out to him, before he was able to retreat.

“And what do you want here… brute?”

On a single stool next to the kitchen’s many ovens, Genn Greymane sat, in his hand a halfway emptied bottle of wine that absolutely didn’t look like it was his first.

“Stop barking, dog”, Saurfang answered, “If you are unable to bite.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Greymane would get up and attempt to prove him wrong. But then, his shoulders sagged, and he took another swig from his bottle. “I should be with him”, he said, making Saurfang cross his arms. “You should”, he confirmed. Greymane was the closest thing to a family remaining to Anduin, after his father’s death. Missing his birthday due to getting drunk in the kitchen on a day as this was uncalled for.

“Aduin being able to celebrate his birthday like this is the greatest gift, after everything that’s happened”, Greymane noted dully, taking another swig. “But I can’t help but being reminded of how my own son will never get to celebrate his birthday, ever again.”

So, that was what it was about, Saurfang noted. Mourning… and guilt. Two emotions he himself had his fair share of experience in.

“Neither will mine.” It wasn’t meant to offer any kind of comfort; there simply were some wounds even time would never fully heal. “My son died a warrior’s death, and so did yours. Mourning them is only right, but if we lose ourselves in grief, we discard their sacrifice.”

Both of them were very aware of the various servants’ glances, but Saurfang had learned from the first day of his stay in Stormwind to ignore the whispering and stares and Greymane at this point simply didn’t care.

“Think you’ll die there, too?”, the Gilnean King asked. “On the battlefield, I mean.”

The orc frowned. Not too long ago, the answer would have been a definitive Yes. But now… “I will always yearn for a death in battle”, he finally answered. “There is nothing more honourable than dying to protect what one holds dear. But…” But at the same time, leaving Anduin behind was more than he thought he could bear. The young High King had already gotten more than he deserved of loss and grief. If Saurfang left, as well, there would be no one but Greymane -and Shaw, perhaps- to pick up the pieces. “I will not leave him alone, if I can help it”, he finally said. 

“He loves you far more, than he should.”

The worgen’s words were starting to slur and Saurfang huffed. “You are drunk. Go to bed before the servants tie you to a tree outside.”

Downing the last of his bottle, Greymane shook his head. “I have to tell him. He deserves to… deserves to…” Anduin deserved a lot, but Saurfang was rather certain, a drunk worgen was not amongst it. 

Greymane managed to get up, but before he even made it past two steps, he staggered, nearly meeting to ground face-first. 

“Alcohol does not improve your ideas, old dog”, Saurfang stated, watching as the Worgen King once more attempted to set one foot in front of the other, merely to fail spectacularly. This time, the only thing saving him was the probably instinctual change into his far too furry form, and with four legs on the ground, his stand significantly improved.

“If you attempt to walk back to feast like this, I will knock you out and lock you up in the Stockade, until you’re sober again.” It was by no means an empty threat and even in his current state, Greymane managed to realise such. “I have to tell him”, he pressed, and Saurfang doubted even he himself knew what it actually was, he had to tell Anduin so badly.

“Not in that condition”, the orc repeated and Greymane changed back into his human guise, staggering aside, until Saurfang’s outstretched arm stopped him from bumping into the next wall -a necessary feat, considering that happened to be a burning oven.

“Carry me.”

Saurfang snorted, the noise loud enough to be heard above the kitchen’s noise. “You are drunk. Go to bed.”

“Carry me or I’ll walk myself!”

For a moment, Saufrang wondered whether making true of his threat and simply locking the drunk King into a cell would be worth Anduin’s disappointment. However; it was his birthday and having his mentor and the closest thing to a father left locked up would probably dull his mood far too much to be considered as an option.

But having Greymane walk just called for disaster; no doubt he would tumble into a table or a guest.

Growling, he picked up the drunk King, lifting him across the shoulder like a sack of grain. At least he had changed back into his human guise, easing his weight. 

“I feel sick”, Greymane stated, his head hanging in front of the High Overlord’s chest, while his legs dangled down his back.

“If you throw up, I’ll have you lick everything back up”, Saurfang threatened, as he made his way back to the great hall. If Greymane wanted to talk to his High King that badly, he would get his wish. And then, he would hopefully be taken care of by Mia and be out of Varok’s hair.

The far too costly clothed guests backed off, as soon as he arrived back at the hall, staring wide-eyed at the High Overlord and the Worgen King listlessly tossed across his shoulder. 

“Are we there, yet?”

“No”, Saurfang answered, dutifully ignoring the room quickly going far too quiet with a speed one would deem impossible considering its size.

“Varok!”, finally, Anduin’s sharp voice cut to them. “What are you doing?!”

“There yet?”, Greymane asked again and Saurfang growled. “I should have chained you to a tree.”

“Need to talk to him.”

“He’s here”, the orc finally informed him, coming to a stop in front of the Alliance’s High King, whose conversational partners -three men and a woman, both dressed in cloth so expensive it made his skin itch just by looking at it- had stepped back, staring at the orc almost comically wide-eyed… and in two cases, wide-mouthed as well.

“Head.”

“No.”

“Can’t lift my head. Be useful, brute!”

“I sincerely hope you die of shame as soon as you remember any of this in the morning, dog.”

“Head!”

Grabbing a handful of hair with his free hand, Saurfang lifted the worgen’s head enough for him to watch Anduin, who had set down his glass on the table. His eyes met Varok’s in an obvious plead for explanation, but Greymane apparently had a story to tell.

“It’s your birthday, m’boy, and all I could think about was how my own son would never get to celebrate his own, ever again. But you are my son, in all but flesh, and I… I’m sorry, my boy. When you started sharing your bed with that orc, I deemed it your greatest mistake. I was determined to prove you wrong whenever you claimed he returned your feelings, as I let my own get the better of me. Out of everyone you could have picked, there is no-one who even comes close to his level of adoration and love to you… even though I sometimes wish I wouldn’t know just what he does with you, when-” With a thud, Greymane’s head fell back to Saurfang’s chest, as he let go of the Worgen King’s hair. “Wasn’t done yet”, the drunk dog complained.

“You very much are”, the orc growled back, before he raised his gaze to meet Anduin’s eyes.

“Bring him to his chambers, please”, the High King asked, making Saurfang huff. So much for not disturbing the celebration. He could already see Mia closing in, no doubt ready to take over the matter at hand.

When he started to make his way out of the hall, he was stopped once more. “Varok?”

He turned his head, facing the High King once more. “What is it, Anduin?”, he asked, hardly realising the collective gasp amongst the gathered nobles, as he dared calling the High King by his given name.

“… Thank you.”

He could feel his features soften at Anduin’s heart-felt gratitude. “Anytime”, he answered, turning around, as Mia finally got to them, no doubt ready to tell Greymane off enough for a lifetime, as soon as he was sober again.

“I think it’s wonderful, you have finally come close.”

Behind him on the bed, arms wrapped around his High King’s slender waist, Varok huffed, the notion disarraying Anduin’s silken hair. “That dog and I have nothing common.”

Snuggling deeper onto the wall of muscle behind him, Anduin chuckled. “You biggest similarity is your outstanding devotion when it comes to denying.” 

“I will not waste my breath arguing with you.”

Anduin smiled. “In that case, let’s use it for something useful.”

Varok hummed, his lips caressing the soft skin of Anduin’s neck. “Agreed.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you ask yourself now, how Saurfang managed to get into Stormwind without being detected... it's because he's the Chuck Norris of Warcraft.


End file.
